


The Wolf and the Dragon

by Macncheese22



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-06 15:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macncheese22/pseuds/Macncheese22
Summary: Dany and Jon go through the struggles of repairing the war-torn Seven Kingdoms, facing both triumphs and defeat, their tale is a sort of happy ending we can't really expect from the show or the books. Not only will Dany and Jon struggle to adjust to ruling the Kingdoms, they will also grow closer through their love and struggle to prove themselves good parents to their children.





	1. Chapter 1

309 AC  
Jon paced back and forth outside the bedroom, brows furrowed up in worry. Daenerys cried out in pain once more, wrenching his heart. He found it hard to resist the urge to burst into the room to be by her side. The past nine months had been one of deep connection between them, the news of an expected child bringing them closer together. Jon was excited, but nervous as well. He wasn’t sure if he would be a good father, having being raised a bastard. He decided that he would try his best to be as good a father as Eddard Stark was to him.   
Daenerys screamed in agony once again, her labored breathing carrying all through the halls. Jon, growing ever more anxious, started toward the door, but stopped when Maester Samwell swung open the door.   
Maester Sam stopped and smiled at Jon, his small chain link jingling.   
“How goes it?” Jon asked nervously.   
“Fine, I suppose. There’s a good deal of blood, however,” Daenerys interrupted with a piercing wail. “Don’t worry, that’s normal. A few more pushes and it’ll all be over.”   
Jon frowned. “And just how many women have you seen give birth?”   
“Not many. Two really. But Grand Maester Silas says that the pain is normal and it ends right when the baby comes.”   
Jon and Sam stood for a moment and noticed a sudden hush in the next room. Then came the loud crying of a newborn baby. Jon’s heart raced as he pushed open the door to find Grand Maester Silas holding a wailing, pink baby boy. A sweat covered Daenerys smiled at Jon and a look of absolute joy spread across her face as she was handed their child. Jon smiled too, overjoyed at the squirming child. He only got a glimpse of its face before the handmaidens took it away to be cleaned. Dany smiled at him and he bent down to kiss her. He sat by her side, clutching her hand in anticipation.   
“It’s a boy,” Dany said, still slightly out of breath. “What should we call him?”   
Jon thought for a moment. “Always thought Eddard or Rickard was a good name.”  
Dany scoffed. “For a Northerner, yes, but he is a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. He needs a worthy name.”  
“You’re not going to name him Aegon are you?”  
“No. That name is old and tired. He needs a name that is newer, that has a decent reputation.”  
“Good. I’ve always thought those type of names were a bit tacky.”  
“Are you calling my name tacky?” Daenerys snapped.  
Jon was caught off guard. “Uh, what? No, your names not tacky, I just…”   
Daenerys laughed at his discomfort, remembering how awkward he’d been when they first met. Jon sighed with relief at not having upset her. Sam entered the room holding the baby wrapped in blankets. He smiled at the both of them, handing it to Dany.   
“It’s a healthy baby boy.”   
Dany gently cradled their newborn son, tears of joy welling up in her eyes. Jon felt tears too, but he didn’t want to cry in front of Sam and the Grand Maester. The baby was a tiny little thing, eyes barely open and tiny hands reaching up and grabbing the air. He opened his eyes and cooed at Daenerys and Jon. Sam still stood at the foot of the bed, seemingly waiting for something.  
“Well,” Sam began, still grinning widely. “What are you going to name him?”   
“We don’t know yet.” Jon answered.   
Grand Maester Silas stepped forward, his long chain jingling. “May I make a suggestion, Your Grace? Your family has a long tradition of High Valyrian names. One such as Aerion, Daemon, Maegor, Baelor, or even Rhaegar might prove suitable.”   
Dany frowned. “The last child I bore was named after my brother and he was stillborn. I want him to have good fortune in life.”  
“He will Your Grace. Rhaegar was well loved by all and a skilled warrior. Naming your son after his uncle will honor his memory.”   
“Jon? What do you think?” Dany asked.   
Jon stroked his beard. He was still getting used to the idea of Rhaegar being his father and Dany his aunt. In fact, he tried not to think about it all, especially not when they were making love. “Rhaegar II Targaryen. I think it has a nice ring to it.”   
Young Rhaegar seemed to coo in agreement. The bells of the Red Keep began to ring, signaling a royal birth. Dany handed the baby to Jon, clearly exhausted from labor.   
“Here, I need to rest for a moment. Screaming takes its toll.” Jon cradled baby Rhaegar in his arms, gently rocking him. He smiled a toothless smile at Jon, waving his clenched fists in the air. Jon noticed that his eyes were the same color as his. The peach fuzz on his tiny head suggested his hair might be the signature Targaryen silver/gold. Jon smiled back at the baby, warmth and pride filling his heart. He hoped with all his heart and prayed to both the Seven and the Old Gods that he would be a good father and raise a good prince.   
*  
Daenerys and Jon walked arm-in-arm to the throne room. Today was the day various lords and ladies and knights came to bring gifts to the newborn prince. The only noble family that wouldn’t be attending was the Lannisters, as their yearly tribute to the Crown wasn’t due until next year. In return for his life, Jaime Lannister had to swear fealty to the crown and pay a tribute of food and/or gold to remain part of the Seven Kingdoms. So far there had been no issues, and Jaime remained Lord of Casterly Rock.   
Tyrion joined up with them, ready to walk in behind them. The voice of a herald announced their presence.   
“Jon Targaryen, King of the Andals, Rhoynars, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, The Resurrected, and Bringer of Light and Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons!” The herald took a long deep breath.   
Jon let Dany sit on the throne, being the gentleman he was, even though the King normally sat on the Iron Throne, he never felt that comfortable in it. Dany, however, sat the Throne better than any queen had, regal and beautiful, and never seemed to let the power go to her head. Jon took his place, standing at Dany’s right, with Tyrion on the left. The herald bowed and began to announce the lords and ladies who’d come to present gifts.   
“Gendry Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands!”   
The young, dark-haired lord approached the Throne, bowing to Jon and Dany. He was dressed in rather simple clothes, clinging to his humble background as a bastard child. Jon had only seen Robert Baratheon for the short time he stayed in Winterfell so many years ago, but Gendry definitely favored the late king.   
“Your Grace. I congratulate you on the birth of your first child. I pray to the Seven that he grows to be a strong, healthy prince and a wise, just king.”   
Dany smiled at the former bastard. “Thank you, Lord Gendry, your wishes are well received.”  
Gendry knelt and unwrapped the sword he held under his arm. “This sword is reworked Valyrian steel,” Gendry unsheathed the short-sword. “I forged it with my own hands, half a year worth of work. It has no name, but I believe you will find a worthy name for it.”   
Jon stepped down to Gendry and was handed the sword. The sheath itself was a masterpiece, the leather on the outside embroidered with the red three-headed Targaryen dragon. The hilt was pure silver, with a ruby embedded into the butt. “Thank you. I hope my son will prove worthy of this fine blade.”   
Gendry bowed and returned to his place in the crowd, as did Jon. Jon gave Dany the sword, who laid it across her lap.   
“Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy and brother to Yara Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands!”   
Theon approached the Throne, looking significantly better than he had when he and Dany first met. His hair was longer and had a healthy shine to it, he’d gained a healthy amount of weight, his face wasn’t quite as sad looking, but one could still tell he’d been through hell. His clothes were fine and clean, and smelt of salt and the sea.   
He bowed and presented himself and his gift. “Your Grace, King Jon,” He acknowledged them, barely able to look Jon in the eyes. “Queen Yara sends her congratulations and wishes of prosperity. On behalf of the Salt Throne, I give the young prince a ship, one of the fastest in our fleet: Sea Dragon. It is moored at Dragonstone.”   
The court murmured, no doubt at the gift itself. “Thank you, Theon. The ship will prove useful someday, I’m sure.” Dany said. But Theon wasn’t done.   
“Wait,” He interrupted. He unwrapped an intricate longbow. “This is my gift to the prince. Take this bow, as a token of allegiance between Targaryens and Greyjoys…and Starks.” Theon walked up the stairs and handed the bow to Jon, briefly looking in his eyes, silently apologizing again for his treason against Robb Stark. Jon nodded in acknowledgement.   
Theon returned to the crowd. “Quorro, of the Dornish Dothraki stronghold!”   
Dany’s eyebrows raised. Quorro had been no more than twelve when they set sail from Meereen, but proved himself to be fiercely loyal to his Khaleesi. The young warrior was dressed in typical Dothraki fashion, with a stallion sigil embroidered on his shirt. He carried a small wooden chest and laid it before Daenerys.   
“Khaleesi, this gift be for young khal,” He started, struggling to use the Common tongue. He opened the chest, revealing a shining, scaled navy blue egg. “Dragon egg. Found in hills by river.”   
Dany rose to accept the gift herself, her chest swelling with pride and a bit of shock. She had not seen any of her dragons since the Sack of King’s Landing, just occasional reports of sighting. Apparently, they’d been busy making more of their kind.   
Quorro knelt and lifted the egg for Dany to grab. She gently took the box and gave it to Jon to hold. Several more lords and ladies from various houses presented gifts: House Estermont, Tarth, Mallister, Crakehall and others, but none rivaled the dragon egg. Soon the event was over, and Tyrion motioned to servants to have the gifts removed from the throne room. Jon stood and waited for instructions from Daenerys.  
“So this egg,” Jon started as they walked back to their chambers. “What do we do with it?”   
“Nothing for now. It must be hatched from fire, by our son, in order for him to control it.”   
Jon was still getting used to that: having a son. It was a responsibility that rivaled guarding the Wall, not to mention having to protect the Seven Kingdoms and do right by the Realm. Jon and Daenerys entered into their room, where Prince Rhaegar was sleeping soundly in his gilded crib. Somehow Tyrion got the wrong idea, stopping at the threshold.   
“Something tells me I’m not invited.” He joked.   
Jon didn’t catch it. “No, you’re welcome to come in.” He sat the small chest on the bed and examined the egg. It was a deep shade of blue and had overlapping scales covering it, but it was as hard as stone, not delicate like other reptiles’. There was a great air of mystery about the egg, a sort of majesty and roughness to it.   
Dany gently picked up the egg and walked toward baby Rhaegar’s crib. Jon watched confused as she placed the egg in his crib, under the same blanket. Rhaegar stirred, but seemed reassured by the egg’s presence.   
“He is the blood of the dragon,” Dany said over the crib. “And one day he too will wake dragons from stone.”


	2. Chapter 2

8 months Later  
Jon walked with haste down the corridor to the small council chamber. Usually, the king didn’t attend small council meetings, but both Jon and Daenerys made it their responsibility to know the happenings in their lands. He pushed open the door and the council rose to acknowledge his presence, save Dany, who was intently studying a map. He sat at the opposite end from Dany, next to Ser Davos Seaworth and Tyrion.   
“So. Tell me what’s going on. By the look on your face Davos, it can’t be good.”   
Davos sighed. His appointment as the Master of Laws seemed to have taken a toll on him, his hair and beard now fully grey. “It’s not good at all, your Grace. The Dothraki east of the Mander in the Reach, they’ve been raiding and pillaging small towns. They’re burning crops too. House Tarly, Fossoway, and Ashford have promised to march against them if nothing is done.”   
“They’ll stop,” Daenerys interrupted. “When I command them. They will have to, I am their Khaleesi.”   
“Just because you led them here doesn’t mean you still rule them,” Tyrion said, sipping on wine. “The Dothraki have their own strongholds, each with a chosen khal. I suspect that whoever they’ve chosen may not take kindly to a woman they no longer see ruling them from afar.”   
“What exactly can we do then?” Jon asked.   
Missandei spoke softly. “Perhaps we could send a rider to them? To offer terms and negotiate, of course.”   
Davos nodded. “That seems like the most feasible option, if we don’t plan on attacking and making them our enemies.”   
“Very well, I’ll write the letter, seal it with our standard.”   
“Good. Anything else Davos?” Jon asked.   
Davos sighed and handed Jon a letter with the Arryn seal on it. Jon opened the letter and read it aloud:   
“To the Targaryen/ Stark bastard, Jon Snow, and his fool queen: I, Robin Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East, proclaim the Vale of Arryn to be a free and independent kingdom, separate from all rule and demands of the Targaryen Crown. Any attempts to invade the Vale will prove futile and all who remain loyal to your kingdom will be exiled or thrown through the Moon Door.”   
Jon slammed his hand on the table. “What the Seven Hells? Has that boy gone mad?”  
“No, but it seems Littlefinger’s toxic promises festered in the young lord’s head. I doubt that Sansa not marrying him also set him against us,” Tyrion argued.   
“The Eyrie is impregnable…except by flying on a dragon.”  
Dany spoke up for the first time. “Yes, Visenya Targaryen managed to win over the Vale by offering the boy-king a ride on her dragon. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen any of my dragons in years. Besides, the Vale is stony and mountainous, do we really need it?”   
“Of course we need it, your Grace. Losing one kingdom means the others may fall suit, it shows we’re weak. Not to mention the Vale has important fertile farmland that’s important if we’re to feed the Realm this winter. We need their support and their land.” Ser Davos said.   
“We can’t sacrifice any men marching on them, yet we can’t afford to lose the resources,” Varys observed. “That means we must rely on dissent from within. Surely not all of the honorable Knights of the Vale stand for this. After all, they were threatened with flying through the Moon Door, that couldn’t have stood well.”   
Tyrion sat up with renewed attention. “Yes, you’re right Varys. I hope your little birds are ready to fly, because this needs to be resolved with haste.”   
“They’re already in the air, my lord.”   
Jon sighed. “Fine. Any news of the North and the wildlings?”  
“Ay. Tormund’s made himself comfortable at Bear Island with Lady Alysane Mormont. The wildlings have spread out, some own farms now, some hunt and work in taverns. One’s even managed to become the shipwright at White Harbor. As for Rickon, all seems to be well.” Davos answered.   
Daenerys stood, signifying the end of the meeting. Jon followed her out, not speaking, already knowing she was frustrated. She nearly slammed their bedroom door in his face before she realized he was behind her. She lay down on the bed and sighed in exasperation.  
“Seven Hells! Ruling Meereen and Slaver’s Bay was miles easier than this! Why can’t everyone just cooperate?”   
Jon sat down next to her, a glass of wine each hand. “We both knew this wouldn’t be easy,” He handed her the wine. “At least we’re not entirely alone. We have Tyrion, Davos, Varys, and Missandei.”  
“Yes, but the final decision lies with us, as well as the blame or the credit.” She drained the wine and sat the cup on the nightstand. She lay her head on Jon’s lap, resting her eyes. He gently ran his fingers through her wavy, silver hair, still softer than silk. They both needed each other; she was the fire to his ice, he was the ice to her fire. Their love gave the Seven Kingdoms hope, something to hold onto through these tough years of change.   
Dany nearly dosed off, but the sudden swing of their door opening woke her. In came young Prince Rhaegar, wobbling unsteadily towards them with nothing but a diaper on. He squealed and babbled at his newfound freedom.   
Jon jumped up in surprise and smiled. “Rhae! What are you doing, little man?” He lifted Rhaegar and held him, kissing his cheeks. Soon after, his wet-nurse rushed in breathless.   
“Gods! I-I apologize, your Grace. I left the tyke alone for one moment, and he takes off! Pardons, please, your Grace.”  
“There’s no need to apologize,” Dany spoke up, smiling at Rhaegar. “He’s just curious, is all.” Jon passed him to Dany.   
Rhaegar babbled and smiled, kicking his chubby legs in the air. He pointed at Jon and gibbered, “Da-da, da-da!”   
Jon smiled at the both of them. He sat next to Dany and watched as their son waddled clumsily around the room, happy and content


	3. Chapter 3

Somewhere in The Reach…  
The sound of burning brush, dying men, and horses echoed in the air. Dickon Tarly rode down the last of the Dothraki scum, nailing him from a distance with an arrow. Their mission was to destroy the stronghold, but they’d been diverted by a farce front. They believed they were already attacking the stronghold but it had been a mere trick, the actual hold being another 2 day’s ride. Dickon’s father made it clear not to spare any, to take no prisoners. He almost began to ride away, but not before spotting movement from a tent. He drew his bow and prepared to kill him, but not before seeing the figure’s face. It was just a boy, no older than Dickon had been himself just years ago. His face was full of fear, and his eyes practically pleaded for his life.   
Dickon sighed. “Go. Tell whoever you follow what happened here. Tell them we will water our burnt fields with their blood.”  
The frightened young boy nodded. He probably didn’t speak Common, but likely knew enough to understand that that was a warning. He dashed off to find a horse and rode south like a demon was at his heels.   
*  
The Dothraki boy dug his heels into the mare’s side, galloping at a breakneck pace. The horse was lathering, and like to pass out soon. The boy sighted his stronghold and continued to dash right in, still at a straight gallop. He jumped out of the saddle right before the exhausted mare collapsed and ran to Khal Jhako’s tent. He burst into the tent, interrupting the Khal and his wife.  
“Father!”   
The Khal looked up angrily at his son, and pushed his wife off of him. “Stupid boy!” Jhako shouted in Dothraki. He went to strike the boy, but stopped upon seeing the dead mare outside the tent. “What is this? Who killed this horse?”  
The Khal’s son spoke quickly. “They’re coming, Father. The Westerosi knights have promised to kill all of us.”   
“Then we will meet them with fire arrows and blood.”  
Khal Jhako’s wife spoke softly. “My Khal, I don’t think fighting will help. Your men are starving and can hardly ride.”   
Jhako grunted in frustration and stopped to think. “Khago, come,” He put his hand on his son’s shoulders and motioned outside. “Our Khaleesi promised to protect us. Look at us now. We starve and die, while she hides in her red palace.” Jhako walked up to the still smoking pyre of his youngest daughter, perished of starvation. He grabbed the hot skull right off the ashes, wrapped it, and handed it to Khago.  
“Go and ride to the red palace. Give this to our Khaleesi, remind her of her promises. Tell her what has happened here. Make her remember who won her this kingdom, who gave her her fiery heart.”   
Khago shuddered, but obeyed, taking the skull, along with meager provisions, mounted the freshest horse, and trotted towards King’s Landing.   
*  
King’s Landing   
This time Jon sat on the Iron Throne, with Daenerys by his side. The day had been largely uneventful, just reports of the summer harvest, and news of the coming autumn. The last compliant of the day was abrupt and unannounced. The herald did not even announce the young Dothraki boy as he approached the throne.   
“You may speak,” Jon permissed.  
Khago spoke rapidly in Dothraki, ignoring the frantic looks.   
Jon held up his hands. “Whoa now! Slow down and speak calmly,” He looked towards Daenerys, who was fluent in Dothraki. “Tell me what he says, love.”   
Khago started again, much slower this time. “My name is Khago, son of Khal Jhako of the Reach Stronghold,”   
Jon interrupted him before Dany could finish translating. “The Reach? Your khalasar has been burning and raiding our people’s fields. I should execute you where you stand for treason.”  
Dany interfered. “You will not! I am their Khaleesi; they are sworn to me. I will hear what Khago, son of Jhako has to say.”  
Jon sighed and motioned for the boy to continue.   
“My father…would send you a reminder of your promises,” Khago moved closer to the throne, prompting the caution of the Kingsguard. He started to carefully unwrap his sister’s skull and repeated his father’s words. “Let my sister, who died of hunger, be a symbol of your broken promises. Let this skull serve as a symbol of our suffering, as a reminder not to forget your starving khalasar.”  
Dany choked on the words as she repeated them to Jon and stared at the charred skull. Dany spoke up before Jon could. “You will stay here at the Red Keep. We will send provisions to your stronghold, in agreement to stop your raiding,” Jon stared at the skull as well. “If the raiding and pillaging is not stopped…we will be forced to act against you.”   
Khago bowed and removed the skull from sight. Dany descended and led the boy to a guest chamber. Jon followed suit after inquiring if there were any more compliants.   
Khago cautiously sat in a chair after marveling at the silverware. Dany and Jon stood, ready to question him.   
Dany spoke up first. “Your sister…did she really die of hunger?”   
Khago nodded vigorously. “She could not eat or even drink water, she was so sickly.”  
Jon chimed in. “A shame, that’s good land you’re living on.”  
“We don’t know anything about it,” Khago spoke. “Dothraki ride, we do not sow, we take our food and horses.”   
“Then I suppose we’ll have to send someone to teach you to. Like I said, we can’t have you trampling our fields. We too have people to feed.”   
Jon agreed. “Yes, and as the North would say ‘winter is coming’. I don’t intend to have the whole realm starve when it does.”   
Khago nodded, still somewhat distracted by a silver goblet. “I suppose that will work. A night of rest will do me well; I’m sweaty and hungry, and my ass is sore from riding. Then tomorrow I will leave with these provisions.”   
Jon and Daenerys looked at each other for a moment. They both knew they couldn’t let the boy return immediately. They needed to secure Khal Jhako’s loyalty, and there was no better way they knew how.   
Dany looked back at Khago, who was stuffing several silver spoons in his trousers, but immediately placed them back. “You will not leave tomorrow, nor the next day, nor the next week. You will stay here, as our ward. Do not worry, we will still send food to your father.”   
Khago stared in shock at Dany and Jon. “What? No, you can’t keep me here, my place is not here, not in this red palace,” He argued. “No, I must return.” He tried to leave but Jon held him back, gripping his shoulders.   
“No need in fighting. You’ll be treated well here, taught the Common tongue, fed well, and trained in the ways of court. You’ll be raised alongside my own son.”   
Khago sat on the floor in defeat. When he was on the battlefield he was afraid, when his comrades were killed he was afraid then too, but only now did tears flow freely from his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey had been long and arduous for Archmaester Harlan. He and his companions had been dodging and weaving back and forth from the Roseroad trying to avoid potential Dothraki ambushes. After two weeks, the sight of King’s Landing was a welcome one.   
Since receiving the summons from Grand Maester Silas, Harlan had been pondering why he was here. The message had been simple, but vague: the queen had summoned him for assignment. But what assignment could that be? It surely wasn’t a simple castle he was going to, as the castellan would send for a master if one was needed. Whatever it was, he certainly didn’t need too much convincing. After all, it was said that the Queen was the most beautiful woman in the world. He may have been old, but he still had decent eyesight, enough to know a beautiful woman when he saw one. His curious side hoped to glimpse a dragon. It was said two of them never strayed far from the Red Keep, while the largest roamed the deserts of Dorne.   
As he got closer to the city, smells of shit and sounds of bartering and bantering grew louder. “King’s Landing. The shit-hole of the Crownlands.” He muttered as he weaved his horse between the bustling hordes. As he came to the gates of the Red Keep, he dismounted to approach the guards.   
“Good men of the Gold Cloaks. I am answering summons from the queen, good sers.”   
The men frowned at him. “You Archmaester Harlan?” One asked.  
“That I am.”   
“Come with us, Maester.” The gold-cloaks escorted him through the gates, leaving their posts unguarded. Harlan wondered why they didn’t think of that before leaving. They came into the empty throne room, where a single Kingsguard waited.   
“You must be Archmaester Harlan.” The knight asked.   
“That I am. If you don’t mind, Ser Knight, telling me where my things will go?”   
“Follow me.” The knight rudely replied, ignoring Harlan’s question. Harlan grumbled but followed the knight. He’d ask for answers later. The Kingsguard led him into what looked like the Hand’s office, where, indeed, the Imp, Tyrion Lannister sat waiting.   
“Welcome to King’s Landing, Archmaester Harlan. Please, feel inclined to make yourself comfortable.”  
The knight left, and Harlan sat exhausted. “I’d bow, my Lord, but my back has seen better days,” Instead, he stretched out his hand as a greeting. “Our queen is not available?”  
Tyrion poured wine into a glass. “Unfortunately, she is not. Though she left you in perfectly capable hands, I assure you. Wine?”  
“Don’t mind if I do.” Harlan answered, reaching for the cup. The Citadel forbade drink, so wine wherever he could get it was appreciated.   
“I don’t suppose Grand Maester Silas explained the meaning of these summons. The queen has been well educated on your…assets. She knows you lived among the Dothraki, learned their language and customs.”  
Archmaester Harlan sipped his wine nonchalantly. “Yes, that is true. What of it?”  
Tyrion continued. “Queen Daenerys also knows of your progress and knowledge of the stars and agriculture, so she comes to you with a critical task. I’m sure you may have heard of the Dothraki raids in the Reach?”  
“Worse. I nearly experienced one.”   
“So you know the severity of this issue then. Queen Daenerys has commissioned you to help teach her people the ways of the land, the ways of agriculture and the Common tongue.”   
Harlan sat in silence, letting the news and the sweetness of the wine seep in. He knew he’d have his work more than cut out for him, if he accepted. Then again, the Queen’s summons were not to be refused. “I see. You seek me for my expertise,” he responded, fingering his three bronze links, signifying his studies in astronomy. “I shall have to hear all this from the queen. I will need to hear what she desires me to do. Only then will I consent to this…assignment.”   
Tyrion scratched his beard. “Then I suppose I’ll reveal where our queen has gone. She has traveled to Meereen and will not be back for some time.”  
“And King Jon?”  
“Is preoccupied with his son and other matters as well. He may see you, if you ask nicely enough.”  
Archmaester Harlan rose with a grunt. “I suppose I’ll be asking then.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rhaegal and Viserion roared overhead as the fleet came in view of the city. The last time Daenerys had been in Meereen, she’d been saying good-bye to Daario Naharis and leaving the city in his hands. It was not in flames, so that was some small relief to her. The Targaryen banner still flew over the Great Pyramid, so the slavers had not retaken it either. As the ship docked, soldiers hurried to meet the queen and prepare the way for her.   
As she and Ser Barristan disembarked, Dany began to hear cries of “mhysa” from the crowd. The soldiers, whom she presumed were Daario’s men, parted way for a man dressed in all the finery of Meereen, skin glistening with oil, and jewels glinting in the sunlight, mounted on a horse that reminded her of her silver. He dismounted and bowed.  
“Many salutations to you, Your Worship. I am Marduz zo Grazhan, here to welcome you on behalf of the Great Council. I would be honored to be your humble escort.” A palanquin was brought forth, along with several horses for Barristan and the household guards. Dany eyed Barristan before stepping into the palanquin. To her surprise, the representative slid in next to her.  
“I thank you, Marduz. I know my arrival was unexpected,” Dany noted the man smelled like spices, not the pungent musk most Ghiscari nobles wore. “Forgive me, but if I remember correctly, I left Daario Naharis in control here.”  
Marduz flashed a marvelously bright smile towards here. “So you did. Daario Naharis continues to serve Meereen in your name, as Commander of the City Guard.”   
Dany nodded. The position was a higher one than he deserved, in truth. “And what is this Great Council you mentioned?”  
“I am pleased you asked. The idea for a council was put forth by Daario and the Graces, in order to maintain peace and your…revolutionary principles. The Great Council is made of seven leaders of diverse backgrounds. I have the honor of being the Chancellor of Diplomacy, hence my meeting you here.”   
Dany thought for a moment. While a council seemed like a good idea in theory, she wasn’t sure how effective it would be in practice. “Diverse backgrounds, you say?”   
“Oh yes, Your Worship, I myself happened to be a spice merchant. Our Supreme Commander was a pit fighter, and our City Chancellor was a slave, before your reign.” The palanquin stopped. The ride seemed much quicker than it was. “We are here, Your Grace. The Great Council awaits.”   
Dany exited the palanquin and Barristan formed rank around her. Barristan leaned in close, out of earshot of the Chancellor. “I’m not so sure of this, Your Grace. We need to tread carefully, we are not sure if they still recognize your authority here.”  
“If not, they will.” Dany responded. She followed Marduz into the Great Pyramid. Marduz was tall and slight and moved with a silken grace that reminded her of Hizdar zo Loraq. As far as she could tell, he talked the same way too, with an accent peppered with Ghiscari growls. The open chamber she had once made her throne room had been drastically changed. Marduz told her it was now used for dinners with foreign leaders and a monthly holiday called Day of Grievances, where citizens could bring their issues to the Council.   
“If you don’t mind, Chancellor, I would like to freshen myself before standing in front of this council.”  
Marduz smiled again. “Of course, Your Worship. I will escort you to your chambers. Come to the meeting hall when you are ready.”  
*  
Dany dressed herself in the traditional tokar, one a marvelous shade of sky blue. Even Ser Barristan had taken off his heavy gilded armor, in place of a surcoat over light mail and his white cloak. As expected, Marduz awaited her outside her chambers, ready to escort her to the Council. When she arrived at the meeting hall, it did not look much different than it was during her time here, excluding the people in it. The first person to catch her eye was Daario, of course, unchanged with his blue hair and shining gold tooth. His arakh hung by his side as usual. The rest of the Great Council she did not recognize, however, their faces tanned brown suggested they had not always enjoyed the life of a noble. The first to acknowledge Dany was short and bald except for his greasy beard. His hooked nose was reminiscent of an eagle and bore a jeweled ring as in the style of Qarth. He bowed smoothly.   
“Your Magnificence, on behalf of the ancient and glorious city of Meereen, I welcome you,” He spoke in Valyrian only, suggesting he never learned the Common tongue. “This one has the honor to be Khazan the Wise, City Chancellor, and Voice of Meereen. The Great Council has given me the great honor of introducing them,” The members stood and Khazan gestured to the tallest amongst them, who did not wear a tokar. “He would be Grazhar the Giant, Supreme Commander of Meereen’ s armies and fleet,” Dany’s eyes shifted from person to person as the Chancellor recited their names and titles. Ser Barristan felt the need to do the same for her. She noticed that the woman who was announced as Chancellor of Laws and the man called the Chancellor of Trade did not bow. Marduz motioned for her to sit, but the old woman spoke up.  
“Forgive me, Queen Daenerys, but you abandoned Meereen years ago, so I ask why you have come here once again?”  
The Chancellor of Trade backed the woman. “Mother speaks true. All you brought was trouble and death to our great city. We have no reason to recognize any authority you might have had years ago.”  
Dany frowned. “I am still your queen. I left to claim what was rightfully mine, and did so. I have returned to--,”  
“To claim our city as yours?” The Chancellor interrupted. “You have your kingdom, woman, and we are not Westeros, we are not yours to lay claim to.”  
Before Daenerys could speak, Marduz interfered. “Aiee! Is that any way to speak to a queen, Skazdan?”  
“A queen,” He responded. “But not ours.”  
It was then Dany recalled his family name. Loraq. He must have been related to Hizdar, which was the cause of his animosity against her. Daario took the opportunity to speak.  
“She is our queen. Without her, none of us would be standing here now. This city might not be standing here without her.” He was close to her, so close she could smell the musk of his sweat.   
Khazan nodded in agreement. “Daario speaks true. Though she may no longer be our queen, we all owe our positions to her. We can at least honor her with an audience to appreciate the changes she made.”   
Skazdan grumbled and sat, as did his mother. Daenerys sat as well, and Daario sat next to her. “Prickly, that one’s been since you murdered his cousin,” He whispered, leaning in too close. “Or that’s how he would see it anyways.”  
Dany nudged him away. “We shall talk afterwards,” She turned to the Council. “I expect there are no slaves in my city.”   
Khazan the Wise spoke first. “Of course not, Your Grace. In place of slave labor, nobles and the like are required by law to issue contracts to workers with a promise of pay at its end. Violators are punished harshly, I assure you.”   
“Peace in the city is kept by Yours Truly,” Daario chimed.   
Khazan ignored Daario and continued. “All citizens are encouraged to partake in labor so the city can function. Trade has flourished in Meereen and any slaves brought here are treated as citizens with a choice, not property.”   
The slaves part brought her attention. “What of Astapor and Yunkai?”  
Marduz frowned for the first time she’d met him. “We have made diligent attempts to broker a feasible peace with Astapor and Yunkai, but… Astapor has continued to train Unsullied soldiers and Yunkai is no closer to liberation.”   
“I destroyed the masters of Astapor and Yunkai.”  
“And more took their place,” Grazhar boomed. “I am mustering a force to lay siege to Yunkai, in hopes their submission will cow Astapor.”   
The Loraq woman shook her head. “I do not see the purpose of revealing our plans to this ‘queen’.”  
“Because I care. And I have dragons you may need.” Dany interjected.   
Marduz smiled again. “All the more reason to treat our queen with the respect she deserves.”  
“I need details. Perhaps Ser Barristan may be able to help.”  
Grazhar eyed Ser Barristan, nodding in approval. “We have 8,000 freemen in total, plus Daario’s Second Sons. We are building trebuchets, but we hope we will not have to use them. Yunkai has bought 3,000 Unsullied and sell-swords known as the Windblown to defend their city. And, if her Grace will allow it, we will have 2 dragons.”  
Dany’s chest tightened. “3,000? I thought I prohibited the training and enslavement of young boys.”  
“You did, of course, but Astapor has fallen back to its old ways. They would claim these boys came willingly, but I know this to be false.”   
Dany looked at Ser Barristan, meeting his eyes. He was not sure about the situation, but Dany was already resolute in her decision. “We will assist you. When will your soldiers be marching?”   
Grazhar smiled. “Hopefully before the month ends. Will Her Magnificence be prepared by then?”  
“Of course. And so will my dragons.”


	6. Chapter 6

King Jon sat across from Archmaester Harlan with Davos by his side. The Archmaester had made himself relatively comfortable in the Red Keep, and Varys had even reported women being escorted to his bedchambers, despite the vow the maesters took. He seemed reluctant to meet with Jon, wanting to wait for Daenerys instead.   
“This… was supposed to be kept a secret, but our queen is in Meereen at the moment, Archmaester,” Jon had told him. “My wife left me detailed instructions as to your mission.”  
Archmaester Harlan nodded. “I suppose I am obliged to consent to this, as my liege commands.”  
“We have no better candidate. You are to head south to the Mander, and you will be accompanied by several wagons of food to last the winter. When spring comes, you will instruct the Dothraki on the ways of planting and tilling the soil for food. Do whatever you must to assimilate to their culture, but Tyrion has told me you know their customs?”  
“Aye, your Grace, though Queen Daenerys lived amongst their people longer than I.”  
“Is that why you wished to speak to her first?”  
Harlan grinned. “Yes, and I’ve also heard that our queen is the most beautiful woman in the world. I’d have liked to have seen so myself.”  
Jon’s face darkened at that. His patience had been frayed since Dany had left and his legendary temperance had grown shorter. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Of course. You will leave at sunrise tomorrow, is that appropriate?”  
Archmaester Harlan stood and bowed. “Of course, your Grace. I thank you for your absolute hospitality.”  
Jon sighed as the archmaester left, slightly annoyed. “Any news from the Vale, Davos?”  
Davos shook his head. “None, your Grace. Varys has reached out to several houses, but none have responded.”  
“None? Surely they cannot all be content with their lord? None would leap at the chance to become the new Lord of the Vale?”  
Davos shrugged. “We have yet to see, your Grace. Lord Tyrion suggests that we reach out to the hill tribes, seeing as he owes them a debt.”  
Jon scratched his beard. “We could, but the other lords won’t take kindly to being ruled by mountain men, no more than the lords of the North did with the wildlings.”  
“And yet there’s a saying I so love to retort. Do you know it Lord Davos?” Tyrion chimed as he caught up with Jon and Davos.  
“Hmm, a Lannister always pays his debts?”  
“Precisely, and I intend to pay as many as I can. I wish to let the hill tribes know I have not forgotten my promise.”   
“You make an awful lot of promises, don’t you?”  
“Only when I know I have the means to make good on them. Besides, we need to resolve this quickly or we could find ourselves with a rebellion at hand. Remember the last time the Eyrie revolted?”  
Davos glared at Tyrion and nodded. Jon merely sighed and rubbed his temples. Without Dany there beside him, decisions came much harder. “What should we do then?”  
Davos piped up this time. “Your Grace, I must counsel patience in this matter. The lords of the Vale need time to decide where they stand and what will benefit them. Or let Varys cook up some plot. Either way we wait.”  
“Tyrion?”  
“I believe Lord Davos is right this time. Best to let Varys spin his webs than act hastily.”  
“Fine,” Jon nodded, dismissing Davos. Tyrion lingered. “Having her here would make this much easier.”  
“Daenerys? Ah yes, I tried to tell her to wait until this issue had been quelled, but you know her. She has to do what she feels is right. Until she returns, we men must suffice.”   
“Ser Jorah told me she left a lover in charge of the city.”  
“That’s true. A sell-sword by the name of Daario, if I recall correctly. I highly doubt he’s in charge of anything at the moment.”  
“I’m not concerned about that, it’s just that…well… he was…her lover,” Jon brows were furrowed in his typical brooding way. “You don’t think that…,”  
“Her with Daario? Heavens no! She buried that bone long ago. No matter how Daario may desire her, she’ll always refuse him. She loves you, Jon Snow. Unconditionally, might I add.”  
Jon smiled. Whenever Tyrion or Daenerys referred to him by his bastard title, it was always with endearment. “How long do you think she’ll be gone?”  
“Hmm, a few months, depending on how bad the situation is. Don’t worry, she has Jorah and Ser Barristan, they’d never let anything terrible happen.”  
“I do hope you’re right, Tyrion. I really do.”


	7. Chapter 7

Varys wrapped his cloak tighter about him. The whispers of a new cult rising were too delicious to sate his curiosity. He walked softly through the streets towards the remnants of the Sept of Baelor. For months, Daenerys and Jon had been seeking to rebuild the Sept but had been met by increased resistance from the growing following of R’hllor. Now Varys had been receiving rumors of a certain red priest leading the resistance.   
The crowd thickened as he approached the ruins of the Sept of Baelor and so did the clamor. The people were hushed by the booming voice of figure Varys could not yet to see. He brushed past young and old alike, hushed to hear the words of this priest. The man came into view as Varys pushed his way towards the front of the masses. He stood on the very pedestal the statue of Baelor the Blessed had stood on, wrapped in vivid red robes that twisted the sunlight to resemble flames around him.   
“Good people of King’s Landing! There must not be another shrine to the demons you know as the Seven!”   
The statement set the crowd to murmuring and some even outright shouted, “Blasphemy!” and “Lies!” Varys was not religious in the slightest, but he was intrigued.   
“Listen! Where were your Seven when the Long Dark came over your city? Where was the Mother when your children died from hunger? Where was the Smith when your fields froze over? The Warrior when men went to war never to return? Your gods did nothing while their people suffered!” Varys observed numerous nodding of heads and angry shaking as well. The red priest continued. “But the Red God, R’hllor, the Lord of Light, he gave us gifts to fight the Great Other! He gave us Jon Snow, who you now know as your king, as Azor Ahai reborn! His light revived the life in him and gave him strength to fight the Others! The Lord of Light gave us Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, whose light brought dragons back into the world! Her light gave us the third gift: dragons! Good people, dragons are fire made flesh, R’hllor’s children! Only these brought us out of the Long Night, only the Lord of Light brought us out of dark! So I implore you, people of King’s Landing, turn away from the demons you have so fervently worshipped, turn away from these agents of the Great Other! Praise R’hllor, who has given us light and life!”  
The red priest concluded and crowd began to clamor once again. Some rushed towards the priest, but Varys had seen enough. He walked back towards the Red Keep, intent on learning the name of this red-robed fanatic.   
*  
“His name is Nyessos Benezar,” whispered the fisherman Varys had paid off. He’d promised him extra coin for extra information. The fisherman had even went so far as to feign interest in R’hllor for the facts. “He was from a family of the Old Blood in Volantis, but he spent his life as a priest in the temple.”   
Varys thanked the man and gave him a full coin pouch. The Old Blood of Volantis? Interesting… Varys thought. He’d report to the king to take action soon.


	8. Chapter 8

Dany rode at the head of the train of supplies beside Ser Jorah, against the advice of Ser Barristan. Her dragons circled overhead, keeping well away from the Meereenese army. After a week of marching, Daario finally caught up with her.   
“Forgive me, my queen, we have not had the time to catch up. I know you’ve been awfully busy lately.” Daario smiled, his golden tooth glinting in the hot sun. Ser Jorah rode closer to Dany.  
“Your Grace, I’m not sure you should--,”  
“Jorah! It’s been too long! Free of greyscale I see?” Daario interjected. Jorah glared at him with the same mistrust he had years ago.  
Dany spoke up. “It’s fine, Ser Jorah. Daario and I will speak. Alone.”  
Jorah took the hint and bowed his head and sped up his horse to catch up with Ser Barristan. Dany turned back to Daario, who was already starting to speak.  
“So I see you’ve married again. The King in the North, if I’m correct. I wonder, did you love him or was it pure politics?”  
Dany rolled her eyes. “I did and still do love him, with all my soul. He would not be king if I didn’t, nor would he be the father of my son.”  
That took Daario aback. “A son you say? Ah, so you married to make an heir. I could have done for you.”  
Dany’s hands tightened around the reins. “Did you have something meaningful to say, Daario, or are you just here to stroke your ego?”  
Daario moved closer yet. “My queen, I’m here to serve you. Let me visit your tent tonight and show you why you loved me.”   
Dany glowered at him, disgusted. “Never speak to me like so again. I am your Queen, not some camp-follower. And I love Jon with all the fire in my heart, but you and I…we have nothing which binds us.”  
Dany kicked her horse forward, leaving a hurt Daario in the dust.   
*  
The sun was just peeking over the hills when the city came into view. Its rays reflecting off the yellow bricks made it seem to glitter in the dawn. The siege engines had already been set up, with men ready to fire them. The army of freemen was surprisingly well armored and trained. Ser Barristan had been given a company of 600 to lead, more as a courtesy than a requirement. Daario would lead his sell-swords, around a thousand men, and Grazhar the Giant would lead the rest. Right at dawn, the Yunkish marched their Unsullied out beyond the gates of the city to defend it, silent and foreboding. Daenerys watched from their camp on the hill above. She was slightly nervous; she had heard the story of the 3,000 Unsullied of Qohor, who’d stood against more than 30,000 Dothraki. The only difference was her dragons, which she hadn’t seen since arriving in Meereen.   
She watched Grazhar trot his equally giant horse to the middle of the field to coerce the Unsullied to surrender.  
“Unsullied! We do not have to fight today! We have come to bring freedom to Yunkai and to those like yourselves. You have been slaves all your lives, do not die one! The Mother of Dragons is with us! The Breaker of Chains, who freed your brethren! Lay down your arms, brethren, and she will give you freedom, or perish amongst dragonfire!”  
The Unsullied were stiller than statues. Not one spoke or even blinked, as far as Daenerys could tell. A rider came to meet Grazhar, clearly a Yunkishman given control of the Unsullied. He spoke rapid Valyrian.  
“My Unsullied will never surrender! They have pledged their lives to defend Yunkai. So go back your whore queen, pig!” The rider remained in the field as Grazhar retreated to the front lines. The men began to ready the trebuchets, when the roaring of a dragon was heard. Daenerys looked up. This was neither Rhaegal nor Viserion, as she had come to recognize their tones. That was Drogon. Quick as an eagle, he swooped down and yanked the Yunkish general off his horse, tossing him in the air. As their leader went soaring through the air, the Unsullied visibly buckled. Drogon flew to where Dany stood and landed with a great thud, stirring the dirt and earth around him and scaring several men around her. He had grown absolutely massive since Dany had last seen him. He was quite large when the War for the Dawn ended, but now he’d grown to Balerion the Dread’s proportions. He sniffed at Dany, cocking his head to the side in affection. Dany stroked his snout, which now boasted a mouth full of great-sword sized teeth. She had no saddle made for him, but climbed on regardless, much to the awe of those around her. Drogon flew her down to the battlefield. She could hear Rhaegal and Viserion behind her. Drogon landed hard in front of the Unsullied, incinerating the front lines.  
The Unsullied cowered and retreated, shouting in fear. “Unsullied! Join me, and be free men! You will leave this battle alive and your life is yours to choose what you may do!”  
It did not take long for the Unsullied to run over to the Meereenese forces, especially after their comrades had been turned to ash before them. But, surprisingly, the Windblown were nowhere to be found. Dany took off on Drogon to survey the city. When she squinted, she was almost certain there was fighting in the streets. She did not have to tell Drogon to turn around, as her mind spoke for her. She landed in front of Grazhar, whose horse panicked at seeing the dragon. He carefully dismounted, cautious to avoid Drogon’s maw, but the dragon took off beforehand.   
“My queen, thank you very much. What did you see in Yunkai?”  
She took a deep breath. “Fighting, it looked like. It might be the Windblown.”  
“Likely so. Sell-swords fight for coin, not loyalty. Dragons can’t be covered by any cost in the world. Well, my men will stand here all night if need be.”  
It turned out not to be necessary. The captain of the Windblown came out of the city waving a white flag with a small host. Some were chained, which suggested hostages. They were allowed into the camp, despite the nervous on-lookers.   
The captain was a surprisingly short man, called Timon the Tall, obviously a poke at his short stature. He carried the heads of several Wise Masters in a bag.   
“These are the ones that refused to listen. Told us to go out ‘tere an’ fight a dragon. The rest were willing to compromise.”  
Grazhar frowned. “What about your contract?”  
Timon the Tall spit. “What about it? Contract don’t covah no dragons an’ gold don’t give the weapons to fight ‘em.”   
“I see. Your Radiance, what shall we do with the prisoners?”  
Daenerys looked over their dirty, piss-stained tokars. “Set them free. If they choose to adapt to the new order, they may live. Who knows, they might even find themselves as prosperous as before, just without slaves.”  
“And the city itself, my queen?” Jorah asked. All looked to her for an answer.  
She thought for a moment. The Great Council in Meereen seemed to work well, so a council for Yunkai would only be sensible. “There shall be a council. One chosen by the people of Yunkai. Grazhar, tell the Unsullied to pick the strongest and bravest amongst them. He will be the Commander of the new City Guard. As for the rest, bring them here and I shall see how the people have chosen.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Rickon is alive in the books, he becomes Lord of Winterfell. He is about 15 now and visits Bran, who dwells in the godswood near the weirwood, for advice.

Rickon sat praying to the weirwood of Winterfell. It had an invigorating effect on him, as he suspected it might have had on his father. Father. The word had a painful stab to it. He remembered his father bleakly; he only remembered his soft-spoken words and long, solemn face. He knew his father had been loved by the Northmen, highly respected by all. He remembered Robb too, marching off to war to free their father. He’d been told Robb had Tully features, like himself, but that day Rickon thought he looked like Ned. That was the day everyone left and no one returned. He’d had dreams, he saw that they would all leave and never come back. They were too real to not be true. Bran had had the same dreams as well, and he turned out to be a warg and greenseer. Perhaps he’d been too young to understand, but Bran told him he was right and that dreams don’t lie.   
He rarely got dreams anymore, though. Bran told him they were sent by the Three-Eyed Raven, and since he’d become him, Rickon didn’t need the dreams anymore. But he could still warg into Shaggydog, even better now than he could before. Bran, and Osha, to an extent, had taught him to master his fears and rage because he’d project those emotions onto Shaggydog. Of course, Bran had been right and Shaggydog became more tame. He was feared by the men at Winterfell, more so for his reputation. It was whispered that Shaggydog had torn apart more men than Grey Wind had with Robb.   
While Bran tutored Rickon in warging and the greensight, he never truly felt like Bran was there. He was his brother, that was for sure, but Bran was not the same as Rickon remembered him. He was more solemn and distant and did not seem his age. Even his face had wizened to a degree, years worn into his face. The man, or rather, boy, by the weirwood tree was a mere shadow of Brandon Stark. So of course, Rickon often felt alone. Though many of the Northern noble boys had become his close friends, he did not have his siblings by his side. Sansa had gone south with the Martell prince, Arya had sailed west, never to be seen again, and Jon married the Dragon queen and was now his liege. Whenever Rickon tried to talk with Bran about Winterfell before the wars, he would either get a cryptic message or an empty stare, as if the man before him did not know who Bran Stark was.   
Not only did Rickon often feel alone, he felt the stress of being the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North as well. He shared his duties with the steward, Beren Tallhart, and Maester Guyard. Beren was helpful, both insightful and loyal, if at times a tad drunk. Maester Guyard was also instrumental in helping Rickon rule the North. He was intelligent and ever-thoughtful, even open-minded. He was always open to Rickon and always wise, but he was no Maester Luwin.   
Lately, Beren had been encouraging Rickon to seek a betrothal. “A lordling with old blood such as yours is a desired match. Any Northern lady would do, honestly. Plus, you need a woman to warm your bed anyways.”  
Rickon did not know how to feel about any of it. He knew by now how large a commitment marriage was, and it was permanent. He had not yet learned what he liked and didn’t and he had never had a woman, though the thought passed over his mind time to time. He’d especially become increasingly horny when, in a wolf dream, Shaggydog had chased down a she-wolf in the godswood as he was in heat. He’d told Beren he wasn’t quite ready, and he’d understood, though Maester Guyard told him to think more about it. Guyard, being the planner he was, had pre-organized a list of suitable Northern ladies, chief among them Alys Karstark. She was a few years older than Rickon, but said to be of the plain type of beauty. Maester Guyard encouraged Rickon to at least court her. Easier said than done, as Rickon was not a very social person and sometimes struggled with making speeches. He also had an angry streak in him, which Beren called the Wolf’s Blood and said that Ned’s brother and sister had it. Rickon had even asked Bran about marriage, to which he responded: “The Stark blood will live on, but you must decide if the Stark name will too”. He decided he’d think about it and try to court Alys Karstark.


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa let the cold water wash over her. Since being in Dorne, the only way she found the heat tolerable was to take a cold bath every morning. She recalled the past summer, when she’d almost passed out right at dinner. Her husband, Prince Dorian, teased her endlessly on her low heat toleration. But Sansa knew it was all in good humor. She knew Dorian loved her unconditionally and would do anything to make her comfortable.   
When Sansa met Dorian, it was during the Long Night, when the White Walkers had ravaged the North. Jon had forced her to leave Winterfell and sail across the sea with Rickon to Pentos. She and Rickon had taken refuge in Prince Dorian’s manse, who, at the time, went by Dorian Sand. He claimed his father was Oberyn Martell and he seeked to reclaim his family’s seat at Sunspear. Sansa knew he had a motive for offering them shelter, so she made sure she kept her distance from him, even though she found him outrageously attractive. She had learned her lesson from that, with both Joffrey and Ramsay. But somehow, Dorian had wormed his way into her good graces, as he seemed determined for her favor. And he had, so much so that when the time came to return to Winterfell, she chose to stay with Dorian and help him get Sunspear. It hadn’t been easy, as the Yronwoods had proclaimed themselves the Lords of Dorne. But Sansa used her hard won charm on them and they fell like flies. Once they returned to Sunspear, they were married, in the light of the Seven, though Sansa had to request an annulment from Tyrion.   
Now she ruled by Dorian’s side as Princess Sansa Martell. As she soon found out, she was much more inclined to the running of Dorne than Dorian was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t intelligent, but he lacked a certain sense that Sansa had acquired in her time at Winterfell and the Eyrie, with Petyr Baelish. He was wholesome though, and always found it reasonable that she be involved too. He was certainly wholesome in other, more personal aspects, as Sansa soon learned. Her experience with Ramsay had been traumatic, so much so that the very thought of consummating another marriage made her sick. But Dorian had been gentle and kind with her. She had been nervous at first, but by the end she was shaking with excitement. Thus, the birth of their first-borns, twin boys they named Derrick and Jarrick, much to Sansa’s protest. Normally, Dorian agreed with anything else she said, but with their boys’ names he could not be moved. Sansa vowed she would take them to Winterfell to the statue of their grandfather in the Crypts. Until then, they’d have to be content with the hot desert and the Water Gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these chapters with Rickon and Sansa are basically just intro chapters, just to catch up with them and see their situations after the War for the Dawn. Their respective plots will start in their next focus chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Choosing the councilors proved much harder than Daenerys anticipated, as the remaining Wise Masters refused to recognize any authority she may have had. Instead they'd chosen to speak only with Khazan the Wise, much to Dany's frustration. The only council member who'd actually been confirmed was Red Locust, the Unsullied soldiers had chosen as their commander. Red Locust was as dark as ebony and no older than 16. He was part of the reason she'd done what she did, freeing slaves taken against their wills, so no child would be taken from their home and their loved ones, so that they would not labor for riches that they'll never achieve. And now it all seemed to be falling apart, but Daenerys Targaryen refused to watch it all unfold without doing everything in her power to prevent her legacy in the Bay from falling apart. 

Now she stood outside one of the more famous bed-houses owned by one of the Wise Masters. Khazan was meeting with the man to discuss the new terms of running the city. The masters were no longer to be called "masters" and were no longer allowed to buy and own slaves for any purpose. They would follow the same rules that applied to Meereen in terms of labor and punishment for breaking such a law. The brothel owner, whose name Dany had forgotten, seemed to be one of the more cooperative masters, only because he had been the first to rebuke the laws of Yunkai.  
Khazan exited the whorehouse with the master on his heels. "Your Worship, the honorable Gharzhan would see you now and is ready to hear your terms."  
The owner, who was surprisingly thin considering his wealth, bowed stiffly towards Dany. "Your Magnificence Daenerys Targaryen, I am here and ready to serve the great city of Yunkai in your righteous name."  
The man spoke the Common tongue, clearly to flatter her further, but Dany had learned the hard way not to trust those whose words were flowery, as they often had ulterior motives. She smiled pleasantly, acknowledging his status. "I thank you for your enthusiasm. May I ask what position you plan to serve, my lord?"  
"It will be my great honor to serve as the Chancellor of the city, if it please you."  
"That remains to be seen if it pleases me or not. Do you know who else will make a good councilmember?" Dany slipped into the palanquin, waiting for Gharzhan to talk with her.  
Gharzhan smiled, his lips curled like snakes. "I do not know. I have heard an Unsullied soldier will be the Supreme Commander. As for the rest, I can think of none."  
"You cannot or you will not?"  
"Do not doubt that I will serve graciously the city of Yunkai, Your Worship. If I could think of any well suited candidates, surely I would inform you."  
"I'm counting on it." Dany responded, meeting the councilor's dark eyes. She could not determine exactly what she saw there, but there seemed to be much pride and ego in them. Dany looked outside the palanquin, only to see that they'd stopped outside a large manse instead of the pyramid where she was to meet the other potential councilors. "We've stopped?"  
Khazan spoke up. "There is a merchant here who would beg an audience with you, your Grace. He will only meet here, in his own estate."  
Dany turned to Gharzhan. "Do you know this merchant?"  
Gharzhan shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not. I know of all the distinguished traders in the city, so perhaps maybe he is not one of these."  
Dany nodded. "Thank you. If you will, continue on to the pyramid. We shall be with you shortly." Dany dipped her head as she exited the palanquin, stepping out into the blistering heat. Khazan once again escorted her towards the manse, which seemed more shoddy close up than from afar. "This merchant would like to be the Chancellor of Trade in the city, my queen. What do you think of it?"  
"I don't know yet. I must meet the man." As they came closer, it was clear the place was in great disrepair, with cracks running through its facade, dirt staining the once white walls and trees long since dead and dried up. There were no servants inside the manse, though there were clear signs of inhabitance. They heard footsteps behind them and turned.  
"I'm sorry we had to meet in such, well, pitiful conditions, your Grace." The man's voice was harsh and rasped, like he hadn't drank in a hundred years. He was dressed in a torn and ragged tokar, so ripped, Dany could see the trousers beneath.  
"Who are you and why do you wish to see me?"  
The man sat in what appeared to be the only chair around. "My name is Hussar of Qarth. I was a very wealthy merchant in cloth and jewels, until the Masters robbed me. You see, when you first came to Yunkai, I was the only one who supported your cause. I sent my own gold to you in Meereen in secret, but the Wise Masters found out. So they took everything I had and left me with this."  
Dany was skeptical, listening to the man's story. She had never heard of him, nor the money he supposedly sent to her. She responded anyways. "And so you wish to serve on my council?"  
Hussar nodded. "If Her Magnificence would have me, then yes. Why? I'm tired of living a life without a purpose. I wish to do something, anything really. This is the right time to serve the queen I envisioned, the Mother of Dragons, the Myhsa."

Dany's heart stirred at the merchant's words, but she knew she could not let just anyone be on Yunkai's council. However, she would give him a chance to prove himself.  
"Your words have moved me, Hussar. I will consider your proposal. Find yourself something suitable to wear and come to the Great Pyramid this evening, and we shall see."  
Hussar bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Radiance. Your favor means everything to me."   
Dany nodded and turned to leave with Khazan, who spoke up as soon as they had left the manse. "I wouldn't trust him, my queen. He says all these things, but he has bitterness in his heart toward you, I could see it in his eyes."  
She shook her head, frustrated at these relative strangers telling her who to trust and who not to. "Khazan, I appreciate your opinion, but this judgement is for me to make, not you."  
"The judgement is for all to make, make no mistake, Queen Daenerys. When this is over, you will go back to ruling your Seven Kingdoms and the Bay of Dragons will be left alone. The councils are all we have to ensure order and peace. Who we put on these councils determine whether our cities prosper or are trod into dust."  
Daenerys nodded as she climbed into the palanquin. Khazan was right, she would leave and return to Westeros to rule with Jon after her business was done here. After all, did she really have a choice? She had a son and an entire kingdom depending on her, not to mention she could not bear to leave Jon behind, not after all they'd been through.   
After a short ride, she and Khazan arrived at Yunkai's Great Pyramid, where a large crowd was gathered outside. The Unsullied who'd turned their cloaks kept the crowd at bay as Daenerys walked up the stairs. There were no cries of "Mhysa" here.   
The great Pyramid of Yunkai was somewhat different than Meereen's, the steps of its facade were lined in gold, and, inside, the floors were made of smooth marble. At least half a dozen former Wise Masters were gathered to seek favor from the Mother of Dragons. Grazhar awaited her as well, looking like he'd rather be doing anything else but this.   
Dany turned to Grazhar. "This is who the people have chosen?"   
Grazhar nodded. "Yes. The rest were executed."  
They all rushed toward Daenerys, but the first to reach her was an elderly woman, who bowed where until her head touched the ground, despite her years. "Queen Daenerys, Mhysa, the Mother of Dragons, it is a honor to be chosen to serve in your name." The woman smiled kindly, though she was missing several teeth.  
Dany smiled back. "It is not my name which you serve, but your city's name."   
The rest of the councilors did much of the same, including Gharzhan, who again showered her with praise. She also spotted Hussar, who waited to speak to her. When they were finished, Dany made her announcement. "Great Council of Yunkai, I would ask you to consider making this man, Hussar of Qarth, your Chancellor of Trade."  
Before Dany could even finish her statement, the councilors began clamoring. "Your Radiance, this man was a traitor to Yunkai! We cannot let him take advantage again!"   
This time Hussar spoke up, his voice fuller than it had been before. "I did not betray Yunkai. I saw a brighter future and change, so I decided to adapt rather than be trodded over. I chose Queen Daenerys to secure the safety of our city, I did not forfeit my loyalty."  
The chancellors still mumbled even after Daenerys acknowledged Hussar. She could only hope that Hussar would be able to prove himself and handle the council.

 

That night, ships were made ready to depart in the morning for Westeros. Khazan had promised Dany that Astapor would be brought under the new order for good this time, that she shouldn't worry any longer. Dany felt that she had no reason not to trust his word, as he had proven loyal before. However, she knew the real reason why she should leave. The Great Councils did not appreciate taking orders or advice from some foreign queen. They viewed her as a stranger to their world, though she knew it better than almost anyone. That was fine to her, for in her heart she greatly missed home; the warmth of Jon Snow beside her in bed, the joy she received from holding Rhaegar. She knew it would feel good to return home.


	12. Chapter 12

Jon waited on the wharf watching the ship dock. It had been 3 months since Daenerys had left for Meereen and every moment was full of worry and anxiety for Jon. He'd been balancing the kingdom on his shoulders, constantly worrying about what to do and whose advice to take. He missed everything about her; her silky, platinum hair, the feel of her body on his. Knowing she was returning safely was a great relief to him. Rhaegar had missed his mother as well, now gripping Jon's hand excitedly. Tyrion stood to Jon's left, also anxiously awaiting the arrival of his queen.   
Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan unloaded from the boat first, bowing to Jon and taking their place as Dany's Queensguard. Dany herself stepped down to the dock, a wide smile spread across her face. Rhaegar broke free from Jon, running toward Daenerys screaming, "Mommy, mommy!" Daenerys smiled and embraced her son, picking him up off the ground. Rhaegar giggled as she showered him with kisses. Jon smiled as well, embracing the two of them in his arms. "My queen," His lips met hers as they kissed deeply. She had missed the soft tickle of his beard on her upper lip and he had missed the softness of her lips mixed with the earthy scent of her perfume. Dany smiled brightly at him. "Jon Snow,"   
Jon laughed and shook his head. He offered his arm to her and led her to the rest of her welcome party. Tyrion was the first to speak.

"Your Grace. It is exponentially good to have you back." Tyrion bowed, his Hand's pin glinting brightly in the sun. "How fares Slaver's Bay or the Bay of Dragons, as you would have it?"

"All is well. I had to handle more than I expected, but the cities are in good hands." 

Tyrion chuckled. "Can't say the same here. You left the Seven kingdoms in the hands of your bastard husband and a disgraced dwarf. Just what were you thinking?" The group laughed together, though Jon almost failed to catch the sarcasm. 

Davos was waiting back in the Red Keep for them. "Your Grace, welcome home." Despite his cordialness, Rhaegar saw him and dashed over to him, hugging his legs tightly. Davos grinned, now shuffling awkwardly as the prince refused to let go. Dany smiled fondly at them both. She hadn't known Davos as well as Jon had, but during the War for the Dawn his advice had been invaluable to them, both personal and strategic. 

"Thank you Lord Davos. How have things been?" 

"About as well they can be. Winter's approaching fast, your Grace, and the populace is nowhere near ready." 

Dany's head pounded already. She could abide no more political talk for the moment, when she really just wanted to be alone with Jon. "Please, Lord Davos, spare me the details. We shall discuss this later. For now, I simply want to be alone with my husband." 

Davos bowed. "As you wish, your Grace," He looked down and smiled at Rhaegar, who was still clinging tightly to his leg. "D'you hear that, little prince? Off to the yard with ye!" Rhaegar squealed as Davos picked him and walked towards his favorite play spot. Tyrion bowed again, leaving Dany and Jon alone at the door to their bedchamber. 

Dany walked in, leading her husband in and slamming the door behind them. She kissed him again, but this kiss was different. The first had been gentle and sweet, but this one was ravenous and longing, full of lust. "I missed you," Dany rasped as she ran her hands through Jon's curls. His eyes became darker, filled with a familiar look as he tore off her Dothraki style jerkin. "I missed you too," he replied, kissing her back the same way she had. His rough hands massaged her breasts, making their way down to her trousers, swiftly removing them. Dany pushed him onto the bed.  
"Now you," Jon smiled darkly, eagerly removing his trousers and tunic, the bulk of his manhood straining against the fabric. He sat upright on their bed, Dany now straddling him, kissing his neck. Jon stroked her sex, his coarse hands that knew her so well. Dany moaned, her breath catching in her throat at the sensation. All the nights she'd spent in the Bay of Dragons she'd been dreaming of this, anxious to return to her love.   
Now Jon had Dany propped on the bed, pushing her down with his kisses. Dany knew what was next, her cunt wet with anticipation already. Jon teased her, kissing her thighs and just lightly tonguing her nub, in that way that near set her on fire with want. "Please, yes," she rasped, the words whispered like a prayer in the night. His tongue flicked over her lightly, then pushing his way inside. Dany cried out, her legs shaking as pleasure washed over her like the tide. She ran her hands through Jon's black curls, pushing his head closer with need. Jon groaned, tasting her essence like a starving man. He let out a low growl, like a ravenous wolf, that tickled Dany along with his beard. The sensation sent her pouring over the edge, made her feel like there was no coming back. She let out a scream with her climax, unshamed at the certainty that many would hear it, her legs quievering uncontrollably.. Her eyes met Jon's for a brief moment, his eyes so dark they looked black. His lips and beard were sopping wet with her cum, his tongue licking his lips slowly. He stood, his cock erect and throbbing. Dany guided him into her, eyes rolling back in her head as his length filled her. Jon gritted his teeth, groaning at the pleasure. He slid himself in her slowly, adjusting his breathing to match hers. He kissed her as he thrust deeper and slower, his breath hitching in his chest as her walls tightened. He lifted her legs to push himself deeper and Dany gasped and cursed, the words swallowed by Jon's lips on hers. His kisses were slow and needy, letting her taste her own essence on his lips as his hips crashed into hers. He leaned down into her, kissing her neck and whispering sweet words that made no sense in the moment. Dany let her eyes open for brief moment to meet Jon's and she knew once again that he was hers and she was his. This was what their entire lives had led to, all the pain and misery, culminated in this joining of ice and fire.   
Dany dug her nails into Jon's back, all control slipping from her as she felt her climax crash over her like waves of heat, her legs flailing wildly as she cried out. Jon cursed as her walls clenched like a vice on his cock. His blood thrummed in his ears as his own climax escaped him, making him shake like a tree in a winter storm. He remained inside Dany, feeling his seed fill her as he kissed her neck and the crook between her jaw and neck. Dany smiled as his warm seed filled her, hoping it might take hold there. He smiled too, it making him look like the youth he'd been when they'd met. She was always beautiful, but the sheen of sweat made her glow, making her seem like a goddess come down from the heavens. She rubbed his chest, the aftershocks of her orgasm making her feel both alive and lazy at the same time. Jon slipped out of her, wrapping his strong arms around her, cradling her breasts.   
"We should get cleaned up," Daenerys interrupted the momentary silence.   
Jon sighed. "We will. We can stand to kill a bit more time."  
Dany agreed. She lay there with Jon, feeling at home in his arms. They lay in silence for a bit, when she broke the silence again. "Do you think we'll have another?"  
Jon immediately knew what she meant. "We had Rhaegar, and you thought you couldn't have any. Another should be no problem."  
"Maybe. Do you think it would be a girl or boy?"  
"Doesn't matter. As long as we can get Rhaegar playmate besides Davos, we'll be set." The two of them chuckled, savoring the few moments they had alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Rickon walked through the courtyard again, watching as people hustled back and forth. The winter town that set up in and around Winterfell was already bustling as people readied themselves for the winter. Rickon found Maester Guyard counting the bales of hay and wagons of grain.   
"Will there be enough this winter?"  
Maester Guyard sighed. "Just barely, my lord. Meals will be poor this winter again, I'm afraid."  
"Even with the wagons from Jon?"  
"Even then. A large portion of those wagons went to other major Northern holdfasts: Deepwood Motte, Torhenn's Square, Bear Island. Lord Manderly went east to buy food, but I fear he will not return before the snow falls." Rickon nodded. After the War for the Dawn, almost all of the North had been devastated, holdfasts burnt to the ground, farmland completely frozen over. Rickon remembered the first year after the war, almost all the North had gathered within the walls of Winterfell. According to his steward, the fields weren't even thawed enough to plant yet that first year, so they lived almost completely on food from the Free Cities and below the Neck. When they'd returned from across the sea, Rickon asked Bran if winter would end. "No, there must be a balance," he'd said. "Life cannot exist without death, nor death without life." Rickon didn't understand that then, nor now, but knew he had to provide for his people, as his forefathers had done, just without winters that lasted for years.   
Rickon started back towards the Great Hall, where the steward, Beren, was making arrangements for the Karstark's stay. Karhold had been one of the keeps destroyed by the wight army, and Jon had sent as many stone masons and builders as he could muster to help rebuild.   
"How are things coming along?" Rickon asked.  
"Just dandy," Beren grumbled. Clearly his nerves had been frayed by somebody. "If I could just get these shitheads to listen, everything would be in order."  
Rickon chuckled. "Don't stress, Karhold is a long ride from here." Rickon looked around, not spotting his brother. "Is Bran still in the godswood?"   
"Aye, actin' mighty strange lately."  
"If you need me, I'll be by the weirwood." It was most definitely strange behavior for Bran, who usually came inside the castle as soon as the leaves began to fall. But, then again, he was the Three-Eyed Raven, nothing he did seemed to make sense.   
Rickon spotted Shaggydog behind a large oak tree. The direwolf needed no words as Rickon beckoned him to come near, stroking his muzzle as he did. The wolf was absolutely huge. Rickon was considered tall for his age, taller than Robb had been at his age, but Shaggydog's muzzle came up to his chest. Shaggydog was almost solely affectionate to Rickon, never letting anyone else get too close, even Bran. Bran's own direwolf had not been seen in years, but Rickon saw him in his wolf dreams, through Shaggydog's eyes. Summer stayed in the North mostly, as did Shaggydog, never straying too far outside the wolfswood.   
Rickon found Bran in his rolling chair by the weirwood, where their father had prayed so often. Bran seemed to be half asleep or maybe just in deep thought.   
"Brother," Rickon called, the only noise besides the wind rustling the leaves. "Will you stay outside until the snows come? I fear you'll find no warmth in these woods."   
Bran slowly turned his head toward Rickon, though not looking directly at him. "I need no warmth. The weirwood gives me warmth."   
Rickon shook his head. "You should come inside, Bran. The snows will be falling soon. If not, you'll freeze."   
"I'll come inside. Not now, but soon." Bran turned his head back to the weirwood. He had not changed one bit.   
"At least allow Beren to bring you some extra furs."   
"I don't need furs, only the tree."  
Rickon sighed and returned to the castle, Shaggydog on his heels. He found Beren talking to Maester Guyard, who'd finally finished his counting. "Lord Rickon," Beren called out to him. "Come, you must get ready for your guests. A scout has reported back to us, the Karstarks are like to be here in two hours or so."   
Rickon nodded and followed Beren into the keep after dismissing Shaggydog. The main keep was warm, like he had remembered it as a child, the walls humid to the touch. He was escorted his chambers, the same one his father and mother had slept in so many years ago. Servants swarmed him as soon as he arrived, readying a bath, preparing his garments. Beren barked orders at the servants and they all dispersed at once, leaving Rickon by himself in the warm bath. He soaked himself in the heat of the water, trying to surpress his nervousness. Rickon had never been the best at communicating, not like Sansa or Jon. People made him nervous and wary, and at times he felt like he could trust no one. But really, he just preferred solitude over fake courtesies and drunken feasts. Quietness gave him time to think and meditate. The only other activity that gave Rickon a sense of peace was sparring in the yard, and sometimes, praying in the godswood. Even there he could seldom find peace of mind. He recalled a time he tried to warg into the weirwood, as Bran had done so many times. It had ended in disaster. Visions had come to him in great wave; his father cleaning Ice in front of the weirwood, a man being bled in front of a grove of weirwood, endless ice and cold covering frozen bodies, an army of the dead marching, dragons flying over a city. Rickon had been terrified and didn't sleep for days. Bran had tried to explain to him that what he saw were things of the past and maybe even things to come, but Rickon would not hear it. He panicked and ran for his room, shutting himself in. When he came out, all he did was spar in the yard, not daring to warg or even touch Shaggydog.   
He stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel as droplets fell to the floor. He dressed himself quickly, throwing on the grey wool tunic and pants left out for him. The clothes were lined in white wool, matching the colors of House Stark, as befit the lord of the house. Rickon fastened a silver pin on, one Sansa had gifted him during their time in Pentos, and left to greet his guests. He ordered Beren to make sure Shaggydog stayed in the godswood, away from the guests so as not to frighten them. Beren joined him behind the gate that lead to Winterfell's main keep, mounted on horseback to greet the Karstarks.   
Lord Harrion Karstark rode at the head of his party, and behind him Rickon could see the large train of people from Karstark land seeking refuge. Lord Harrion was not a large man, as his father, Lord Rickard had been. He was girthy though, his barrel-like belly protruding from his torso, above rather skinny legs. His face was marred, likely from his time as a prisoner of war under the Lannisters. The scar running down the length of his cheek seemed to have never healed the way was supposed to. Rickon only lingered on Harrion's face for mere moments before his sister, Lady Alys caught his eye. She was plain yet beautiful. Her hair was a nutty brown color, thick and voluminous, as if she brushed every hour of the day. Her eyes met Rickon's and he noticed they were a startling shade of grey, not plain like the colors on their banners, but dynamic and lively in a way that made Rickon's heart leap into his throat. He blushed and turned away as he realized he was staring.   
Lord Harrion dismounted from his mare and smiled with cracked teeth. Rickon smiled politely. "My lord, welcome to my home. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours,"  
Harrion bowed. "Thank you, Lord Stark. It has been years since I've been behind truly thick walls," He motioned for Alys to come forward. "This is my sister Lady Alys."  
Alys curtsied gracefully. "My lord, thank you for inviting us here."  
Rickon could barely find his tongue as he studied her even more closely. She was even more beautiful up close. She had wide hips, he noticed, though not much in the way of breasts, and her eyes shone with intelligence and confidence. "Ahm, the honor is mine, my lady. You and your house are welcome here."   
Rickon's attention was brought back to Lord Harrion, who placed a hand on his shoulder in a friendly manner. "With all respect my lord, my people are weary and in need of rest. May we come in?"  
"Of course. Right this way. My steward will see that your things are taken to your rooms and your people are sorted." Rickon took the lead and escorted Lord Harrion and Alys into the main keep. He tried to make conversation as they walked. "How was the journey my lord?"  
Harrion sighed. "Slow and hard. Most of my people are elders and children, with a few young capable bodies among them. Most are bone tired from working all summer." Harrion sounded tired himself, though he was trying not to show it. A lord had to appear strong for his people, even if he was not, Rickon had learned. Alys spoke up then.   
"We came here hoping for some respite, if you can offer it, Lord Stark." She spoke like a woman who was well read.   
"I believe I can. This winter will not be easy, but we will be fed, thanks to the generosity of King Jon," They arrived at their chambers, which was the hall over from Rickon's own. "Your belongings will be brought shortly. Will you sup with me this evening, my lord?"  
"I will. Thank you again, Lord Stark."  
Rickon caught another glimpse at Alys, who was watching him closely as well. He turned away to oversee the sorting of the Karstark people in the courtyard. He came back to what seemed to be an orderly succession, but in reality everyone was confused and anxious. Maester Guyard had ordered the people to line up, so he could record their names and ages, while Beren gave them furs and a shack to stay in, even though not all of them had been finished. Rickon inspected the shacks himself. They were not very large, perhaps big enough to accomodate around five people, given that some would sleep on bed rolls on the floor. There was a pit for a fire in each of them, along with pots for cooking. They might have been bigger, had there not been such a big rush to put them up. All Rickon knew is that they could block out the cold just fine and, hopefully, hold up against the snow.   
Rickon returned to the main keep and was hit with the savory scent of roarting meat from the great hall. He had brief memories of the place, he remembered Robb feasting the lords of Winterfell before marching off to free their father, though Rickon hadn't understood that. All he knew was that everyone was leaving and somehow he knew, they'd never return. Of all his family, he remembered Robb and Ned the most vividly. He knew that Ned had been a good man, remembered his kind smiles and warm hugs. Robb had always been what Rickon believed he would be someday, with the exception of being named the King in the North. Robb had tried his hardest to juggle being lord of Winterfell and taking care of Rickon when mother had left them. He still to this day didn't understand why his mother had left, though Beren had explained it was to seek justice for Bran's attempted murder. He remembered Arya too, who played roughly with him when she wasn't forced to be a "lady". She'd been more drawn to Jon though, but to Rickon, Jon was little more than a shadow in his memory.   
Rickon found the great hall already full of people seated in the lower benches: kennel masters, soldiers, knights, washerwomen, blacksmiths, all people who served House Stark or Karstark. Lord Harrion himself had been given a place of honor to Rickon's right, and Alyss was seated to his left. He came to the high chair that so many of his ancestors had sat in and raised his hand, silencing the din of the crowd; he knew he was expected to give a speech. "Good people. Many of you have traveled long and hard to join me at my behest. Tonight we drink to your preseverance, to the resilience, that undying spirit of the people of the North. To the strength of House Stark and House Karstark. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours." With that, the people cheered and platters of roasted meat were served. The cooks had butchered two whole aurochs, slathered them in butter and roasted them on large spits over a great fire. There was bread and butter aplenty, along with fish from the White Knife, rabbit stew, venison haunch, steamed vegetables from south of the Neck, clams and oysters from Gulltown. And of course, there was ale and beer to wash it all down, along with several barrels of summerwine, courtesy of King Jon. Rickon knew this would be the last great feast for the rest of year. He would not feast while his people starved outside his walls.   
Lord Harrion made steady conversation with Rickon, bringing up his family. "Aye, I remember your brother Robb all too well. We were all zealous followers, but in the end, we were fools. Could've won the war if that deal with Frey hadn't been struck."  
Rickon was curious to hear more. "You don't grudge against the death of your father?"  
Harrion snorted. "No. I did at first, for years, but you don't get very far hating your liege lord. Robb was wrong, but so was father. I understand his grief, I do, they were my brothers, but the formalities of war must be kept sacred. If not, we are all murderers, not soldiers or knights. Just murderers."   
"Do you remember my father?"   
"Aye, I do. A good man, honorable to the core. He stayed that way till the very end. We all mourned his death hard and when Robb was killed and Winterfell was left without a lord, well, we knew dark times was a-coming. You know the old saying, "there must always be a Stark in Winterfell." With you and your brother thought dead, there was nothing to be done but mourn. Speaking of brothers, where is your brother my lord?"  
Rickon sighed. "He is...praying at the moment. Meditating in the godswood."  
Alys piped up, suddenly interested in the conversation. "You mean Bran? I hear he's quite a queer fellow."  
"Alys! Mind your courtesies!"  
"No it's fine," Rickon's head began to swim some, as he downed his third cup of ale. "Yes, Bran is...strange. He's got a lot of power to handle and it's made him enigmatic and reclusive. We still talk, though he spends more time by the weirwood than anywhere else."   
"Truly? I should like to speak to him while I'm here."  
Rickon shrugged. "He may talk to you, he may not. Until then, tell me about yourself, Lady Alys."  
"Me? Well, I grew around the same time you did. I remember vividly hearing of the War of the Five Kings. Lord Eddard and Robb were heroes in my eyes. Stories spread of the bastard who'd risen to Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I've always been a student of history and I loved reading; my father encouraged it. Though when the white walkers came past the wall, we had to flee, left most of our collection behind to be destroyed. I like needlework too, it's soothing for me."  
Harrion laughed loudly. "Needlework's the only thing your useless self can do!  
"Useless Harrion? Don't pretend like you didn't spend half of the War of the Five Kings in a prison cell! Talk of useless, how can you speak of such when you hardly had a sword in your hand?"  
Rickon and those in proximity near the high bench roared with laughter as Harrion's face flushed. Alys meet Rickon's eyes with laughter as well. He knew she was welcome in earnest to stay in Winterfell as long as she wanted. He wondered if Shaggydog and Bran would like her.

**Author's Note:**

> I have mixed and added in characters from the books and show and I will try to point them out as I continue writing. Also since Rickon Stark is still alive in the books, he will be part of the fic at some point.


End file.
